


The unknown place called home

by me_midget (gin_tonic)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_tonic/pseuds/me_midget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unable to cope with what happened during the war, Harry has lost his memory and now lives in Glasgow, thinking that he had an accident somewhere along the line. He has forgotten about his life as a wizard. It's taken Snape years, but he finally finds Harry. Now only two questions remain: Should he try to get Harry back into the Wizarding World? And if so, how?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The unknown place called home

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks go to digthewriter for doing such a wonderful job as a beta!

Harry locked his door twice – first with the normal lock, then the extra lock – and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck before he set off to work. It was still dark outside, but that was Scottish winter for you. Harry didn't mind the cold so much – in fact, he had longed for it during those icky-wet autumn months. At least it didn't rain anymore; it just snowed. Mercifully, the sky was still clear for now.

The bus ride was a short one every morning, but Harry was thankful for the bit of warmth in between his walks from home to the bus station and from the next bus station to the library he worked in. The library was located downtown – ideal really for whatever Harry had planned on any given day. Which usually wasn't much – most days he just went home to watch some telly or read a book.

Harry yawned and ducked into the Pret a Manger on his way to work like he did every morning. There was a small line, giving Harry enough time to decide what kind of pastry he wanted to go with his customary strong latte. The girl at the counter already knew him and had his order ready before he'd had even so much as finished saying good morning. Harry smiled thankfully and turned to leave. He narrowly avoided slamming face first into the bloke that just came through the door, and he quickly smiled apologetically, noticing the long dark hair and the black eyes. The bloke stared at him, wide eyed, and Harry, mumbling an apology, quickly left the coffee shop. He was almost late for work anyway – like every morning.

 

******

 

The next morning, Harry saw him again. The man he'd run into the day before. This time he was sitting outside the café, not looking cold at all. Maybe he was a smoker. Maybe he was just weird. The man noticed Harry, too, and looked at him with a curious stare.

For a moment, once Harry was inside the warmth of Pret A Manger, he hesitated. Could it be that this man knew him? He still had no recollection of what his life had been like before the accident – only coming to on some street and not knowing where or who he was. He didn't even remember the accident. Harry shook his head. If they knew each other, the man would surely have said something. Harry sighed and went to the counter.

"Your usual?"

Harry chose a Pain Au Raisin this time. When he turned to leave, the man was gone.

 

******

 

Harry didn’t tell anyone about this man. What was there to tell, anyway? Sitting behind the desk in the library, a stack of books waiting to be scanned and filed, Harry wondered about the man. He'd been tall, but not handsome. Yet his features – hooked nose, mouth that looked like it did a lot of sneering and smirking – held something interesting. And his eyes – completely dark as they had been – Harry couldn't forget those eyes! That man would never be called good looking, but Harry still found him fascinating.

Harry wondered if he had just moved into the area, or if, maybe, he started to work in one of the companies nearby. The man didn't look like a banker, though. He looked like... like... it was on the tip of Harry's tongue, but he couldn't muster up the phrase.

Well. It didn't matter. Nevertheless Harry hoped he would see the man again.

 

******

 

Life continued as usual. In the morning, Harry would get coffee before work. He'd go home at five, and eat dinner in front of the telly. Later, he'd fall asleep on the sofa only to stagger to the bathroom to brush his teeth shortly before midnight, and then fall into bed. On Fridays, he would go to the pub with his co-workers for a pint or two, then eat takeaway at his favourite curry place. Life was good, and pleasantly quiet.

It was on such a Friday, though, in December, that something changed. The curry place not being far from home, Harry walked home instead of taking the bus. That day there was something different. A different feel to the air. Harry looked up at the sky – yes, it was going to snow, soon. But that wasn't it. Something else...

Harry looked around and immediately like he was being watched. He had expected something like this would feel creepy, yet for some reason he was completely calm. It was rather like someone was watching out for him.

"You're imaging things, Harry," he told himself, shook his head and looked at the nearest shop windows to admire the Christmas decorations. And then hurried home.

 

******

 

When Harry woke up in the morning, it had indeed snowed. He smiled and stuck his head out the window to look at the world looking like it had been coated with a fine layer of sugar. And then he spotted the message in the snow.

_There once was a Boy who Lived_

Harry blinked. What did that mean? Who had written this in the snow? The neighbours' kids weren't exactly known to be the intellectual types. Weird, what people came up with.

Harry meant to step away from the window, but something kept him there. The sentence, strange as it was, made the back of his neck tingle and his hands shake. What...? _No._ Harry closed the windows with a thud and quickly drew the curtains.

 

******

 

Harry still felt out of sorts when he went to work that coming Monday. So out of sorts, in fact, that he ran smack-dab into the dark-haired stranger he'd seen before and spilled coffee all over the man's coat.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Harry ran to grab some napkins and dabbed the front of the coat. "I just didn't see you there."

"It's of no matter, really."

"Blimey, I hope I didn't burn you or anything!"

"I can assure you, my coat is rather thick. I'm unhurt." The man grabbed Harry's hands and stilled them. "You can stop that."

Harry blushed furiously. "But your coat –"

"Is quite fine. Thank you."

Harry swallowed. Then the man seemed to notice he was still holding Harry's hands and dropped them suddenly, as if they had been set on fire.

"At... at least let me make it up to you." Harry would have offered buying him a coffee, but there was an empty mug at the table where the man must've just been sitting. "Dinner? I... there is a nice Italian place not far from here..." For a moment, the man stared at him, like he was debating whether or not Harry was worth the trouble. And then, finally, there came the liberating 'Yes'.

Harry beamed. "Quarter past six, here?"

"That sounds acceptable."

"Okay. See you later...?"

"Severus."

"Severus." What a strange name.

 

******

 

When Harry returned to the café in the evening, he was all nerves. What if Severus wouldn't show? Oddly enough, he was excited for the date with this stranger – more than he probably should have been. Harry ascribed it to the fact that he couldn't remember when he'd last had a date. Literally.

Harry had arrived early and stood outside the café with his hands in his pockets, watching the snowflakes fall. He stood so transfixed that he didn't notice Severus until he was right in front of him.

"You came!" Harry squeaked in surprise.

"I do keep my promises," Severus said and raised an eyebrow. "Do you intend to stand around in the cold for a while longer, or should we proceed to the restaurant?"

"The restaurant!" Harry exclaimed and blushed. "Yes. Sorry. It's just something about the snow this year..."

Severus made a non-committal sound and fell into step with Harry. The restaurant was really just around the corner. Knowing it was popular with the after-work crowd, Harry had made a reservation for the two of them. They were quickly seated next to the window.

As soon as they were seated, Harry hid behind the menu. Since he couldn't remember his last date, he couldn't remember what one talked about in situations like these. He didn't even know if he'd been good at dating or not. Right after his accident, he'd pondered a lot about who he'd been, but after a while he'd just let it go. The therapist he'd seen for the first two months had said it might never come back to him. Or his memory might just return if he didn't try so hard to find it. So far nothing happened, but Harry was content as it was. This contentment didn't help with the current situation, though. Harry wrecked his brain for a conversation starter: Family? No. Religion? Definitely not. Politics? Even he knew that he shouldn't touch that one with a ten-foot pole.

Severus actually saved him from having more bad ideas and said, "So what do you do for a living, Harry?" The name rolled from Severus' lips like it was a strange, shy thing. But Harry liked how it sounded.

"I'm a librarian."

One of Severus' eyebrows twitched. He looked like he was about to say something, but didn't.

"So what about you?"

"I used to be a teacher," Severus said. Harry expected a smile at the end of that sentence, but none came.

"Used to?"

"It wasn't the right fit anymore. I'm now in the private sector and work from my own lab."

"Are you a chemist then?"

Severus inclined his head. Before Harry could think about how he knew nothing of chemistry, the waiter came and took their orders. Harry went for a nice risotto while Severus chose a lasagne.

"So, Harry, tell more about you," Severus said once they clinked their wine-glasses together. "What do you do apart from watching over books?" Harry smiled brightly – thank God Severus was an okay conversationalist. After all, Harry would have managed to botch this whole evening up if the topic finding had been left to him. Taking a deep breath, Harry told him of Friday pub nights with his colleagues, about what he liked to do on the weekends, and why he liked working in a library. "It's not only that I like my colleagues and that I like the quiet work. It's also... Have you ever smelled a book? There's this old book smell and this new book smell..."

"So you like your life?" It was an odd question made even weirder by the sad tone in Severus' voice.

"Yes, I do."

 

******

 

The evening proved to be more enjoyable than Harry could have hoped for that morning. Severus was witty and almost dangerously funny, though maybe not in the classical sense. In his own way, he was quiet and – just like Harry – he seemed to have his own demons he was fighting with. Sometimes when he was looking at Harry, there was something in his eyes... But none of that scared Harry off. In fact, it made him all the more intriguing.

Looking at Severus over the flickering candle between them, Harry felt like the world was slowing down and time was narrowing in on this moment. Just the two of them, here – that was the only thing that mattered. The feeling made his throat constrict and his heart beat faster. He wiped his hands surreptitiously on his trousers. How could he feel like this about a man he'd barely met?

If Harry was one to describe the world with the words of romance novels – and he wasn't – he would have said that there was a connection between them that went deeper than he could explain. Deeper than physical attraction. Like they were meant to know each other.

Harry licked his lips. "Dessert?"

 

******

 

Harry woke up in the middle of the night, heart thumping and skin sweaty. He looked around wildly, expecting monsters and murderers lurking in the shadows, but saw no-one. Only vaguely comforted, he fell back onto his pillow and sighed. He hadn't had a nightmare like this since he'd come to while stumbling through the streets of Glasgow. He couldn't even remember what he'd been dreaming about, only that he'd heard screams and smelled the stench of fireworks and burnt human flesh. That thought had him run to the bathroom – retching over the toilet bowl, Harry wondered how he even knew what the smell had been.

Maybe it was a good thing that the only dessert he and Severus had, had been Panna Cotta, and that Severus had only accompanied him to the nearest taxi and hadn't, like Harry had hoped, come home with him. They hadn't even kissed, Harry thought, as he sank down on the cool tiled floor. There'd only been the fleeting brush of their hands and a slightly panicked look from Severus, before they'd said their goodbyes. At least Harry had managed to give Severus his phone number.

Harry rubbed his hands over his face. He could forget about sleep for tonight. After that dream he sure as hell had no desire to return to bed. With a sigh, Harry got up, brushed his teeth and went to make some tea. Maybe he'd find something nice and distracting on the telly.

 

******

 

Five days later, Severus had still not called and Harry had not seen him since that night. Pret a Manger felt strangely empty without him. Going on with life just like before was proving to be more complicated than Harry had thought, and not only because his telephone stayed silent; but also because the nightmare was still plaguing him. By now its sensations had lessened and Harry no longer woke up screaming. Also, there was no frantic scrambling to get to the bathroom. Yet he never felt rested.

Harry pulled a sweater over his head and tugged on the collar of his shirt until it locked right. He didn't bother with his hair. He went to grab his keys from the coffee table when he caught something outside in the snow.

_A castle up in the mountains, known as home._

The back of Harry' neck was tingling and he felt like someone was pouring cold water on him. Another strange message in the snow. He swallowed thickly. The image came sudden, like a flash: a lake with lights dancing on it and a castle towering in the dark.

Harry rubbed his temples and rand his hand over his face. A headache was coming on fast. Whatever this was, whatever this meant – he didn't like it. Maybe he should go and see Doctor Hibbard again.

 

******

 

Harry was staking books he'd already scanned back into the system onto a cart when someone cleared his throat behind him. He had expected anyone – like Jerry, the stinky guy who loved to read Flaubert – but not Severus. Which is why he promptly dropped the book he was holding onto his foot. Cursing quietly, Harry smiled at Severus and said: "Hi, long time no see." Severus looked tired and a little rough around the edges, like he had had a couple of rough days with little sleep. Harry chose not to comment on it.

Instead of giving Harry a lame excuse, Severus just nodded. "I came to see if you were free tonight."

"Tonight?" Harry blinked. Maybe he should pretend he was busy. After all, Severus hadn't called in five days. Or he could at least check his calendar – never mind he owned none – to make it look like he was a popular guy. "Yep, I'm free." Who was he kidding?

"Would you like to have drinks with me then? I could come and pick you up around six again."

Harry couldn't keep his grin from spreading. "Okay. I look forward to it!"

As Severus turned to leave, Harry suddenly remembered something and reached out to stop him. "Why didn't you just call me?"

"Pardon?"

"You could have called to ask me out, you know." Harry smiled at him wryly.

Possibly there was a faint, pink stain on Severus' cheeks – but that could also have been Harry's vivid imagination. "I... wasn't sure I could reach you. After all, you work in a library. Didn't want any of your colleagues to have to tut-tut at you."

"Right." Harry laughed. "Well, see you later then."

 

******

 

The bar Severus chose was nice and cosy. Harry blushed almost as soon as they sat down in their nook, because it felt so intimate, being there. They talked about everything and nothing, Severus usually allowed Harry carry most of the conversation, listening intently. Harry didn't know why he felt the need to tell Severus so much, but it felt right that this man should know him well. Whenever Severus looked at him, Harry's heart beat faster, until Harry was sure it'd jump out of his throat at any second. Had there been a time he'd felt like this? Had Harry wished that anyone before Severus would just reach out and kiss him?

The thought startled Harry a bit and he leaned back in his seat, trying to catch his breath. "Okay, enough about me," he said and pulled his beer closer to him. "Tell me something about you."

"Like?" Once again one of Severus' eyebrows went up. Harry could tell he used that facial expression often. The movement also sparked something in the back of Harry's mind – it was like a miniature flash had gone off, lighting up his mind for a fraction of a second before letting darkness cover it up again. Harry rubbed his temple.

"Like stuff you like to do or places you like to go."

Severus seemed to ponder that for a bit. Harry had just taken a sip when he finally started talking again: "There is a little place called Florean Fortescue's... it's across the street from a book shop called Flourish and Blott's. Maybe you have heard of it?"

Harry shook his head. "No, not that I know of." And again, there were sparks lighting up, sizzling like a bag of pop rocks poured into one's mouth. Harry ignored it. "So ice-cream and books, huh?"

Severus nodded. "And the occasional good malt whisky." He raised his glass and took a sip.

They continued their conversation, lost into a world of their own, talking about books they'd read, places they had seen (though Harry couldn't contribute much to that side of their conversation), and things they liked. Only when the barman shuffled over to let them know that the bar was closing for the night, they stopped for a bit, put on their coats and stepped out into the snow-covered world. As they walked down the street Harry let his gloved hand dangle next to his body, always close to Severus', hoping he might take it in his. They continued their talk quietly on their way to the bus station, Harry looking up at Severus through the curtain of lazily falling snowflakes. And he smiled to himself.

The bus would be arriving soon. No time like the present, Harry thought. A snowflake landed on Severus' nose and distracted him for a second, and Harry leaned up and pressed a kiss to Severus' lips. Severus stared at him with surprise written all over his face, like he hadn't even thought of the possibility that the night might end in a kiss.

The bus screeched to a stop behind them and Harry took a step towards it, a big smile on his face. "Don't be a stranger now. You’ve got my number!"

 

******

 

That night Harry dreamt of laughter, the smell of a fire burning in fireplace and of treacle tart. Pictures flitted through his dreams: Stone wall, red and gold curtains. A red-headed bloke and a girl with bushy brown hair. And a room with wooden workbenches filled with a sharp, sonorous voice of someone that seemed familiar.

When Harry woke up, he felt more confused and out of breath than he had all these past days. Why had those dreams disturbed him like this? And where had they come from? Could it be memories coming back to him? That wouldn't explain the nightmares of screams and blood, but maybe that was just his brain trying to make sense of things. Maybe he really was remembering places he'd been to, people he'd seen. He just wished it were easier.

Harry went to the sink to get a glass of water and sighed, trying to calm down. And then, as if by magic, his gaze was drawn to the window. He didn't have to look outside to know there would be a new message out there, waiting for him. By now he had no doubt that they were indeed for him. But he didn't know who put them there – nor how. There were no shoeprints in the vicinity of the messages, nothing indicating that someone had indeed left a message. But Harry knew he wasn't imagining things – he'd taken a picture and showed it to his colleagues at work. They, too, could see the messages, even though they had even less ideas what they could mean.

Harry downed the water and slowly moved towards the window, draw to the next message. He hesitated briefly before stepping up to the window, but in the end curiosity won:

_"You fought a war and you prevailed."_

What was that supposed to mean? A war? Harry had definitely not been in any war. Sure, he had some scars, but that was about it. They had tested his physical abilities in the hospital, had checked his reactions to all kinds of situations. And while he scored above average on all accounts, he hadn't exactly been armed forces material.

 

******

 

Feeling completely out of sorts, Harry thought about calling in sick, but then decided to go to work in the end. By lunchtime, he'd managed to crash the computer, had scared off two little old ladies looking for books on knitting, and almost set a book on fire without matches or a lighter. He didn't know how it had happened, but he knew it was time to go home.

Apologizing to his colleagues, Harry quickly donned his coat and strode out into the wintery Christmas world that was Glasgow at that time of the year. He didn't even pay the drunken Santa any attention that liked to yell out Christmas carols littered with swear-words.

Once he was at home, Harry went to make some tea, but the feeling like he'd been run over by a train didn't go away. He didn't want to wreck his brain anymore to find answers as to why he was feeling like this. He wanted peace and quiet. Trying to take his mind off things, Harry thought about Severus. About the way his lips felt against his. A thrill went through his body and he shivered with arousal – Harry could definitely picture himself sleeping with the man. Hell, he _wanted to_. So much.

Harry poured his tea and stirred in half a teaspoon of sugar. Thought of Severus' voice and how he said Harry's name. Deep and with a rolling R. He thought of how they had met. If he hadn't been daring enough to ask Severus for his name, then Severus wouldn't have learned Harry's. _No. Wait._ Harry shook his head. That wasn't right. He'd never given Severus his name – neither first nor last. And then, in the restaurant, on the first date, Severus had just _known_.

Harry pushed back his chair. How was that even possible? Harry wasn't on any social media sites. His name wasn't even on his door. And Severus couldn't have asked at the library, because Harry would never have heard the end of it from his colleagues. This left only room for one conclusion: Severus wasn't just a stalker or a weirdo. He _knew_ Harry. Had known him before the accident, surely. The betrayal sat in his stomach like a stone – boulder sized. Why hadn't Severus said anything? Why had he – Oh. Harry shook his head and snorted. The sound was ugly, filled with understanding of a treacherous mind. Oh indeed. Harry was sure it was Severus who'd left those messages.  
Why, Harry didn't know. But Severus must truly hate him if he went to such cruel lengths. What had Harry done in his past life to deserve this? Harry rubbed his hands over his face, resisting the urge to bury it in them.

No. He was not going to let Severus succeed in whatever he was doing. He would not give in. He would not be sad.

Unfortunately, Harry didn't succeed in the latter.

 

******

 

After taking three days of sick leave and holing up in his flat, Harry forced himself to rejoin the world of the living. Watching snowflakes fall for three days and decorating his place in the vain hope to feel a bit of Christmas spirit, had make him crave the company of his colleagues – and of the vast number of books – again. The day went well and passed undisturbed, too, despite Harry avoiding Pret a Manger that morning and missing out on his coffee.

But when Harry locked the library up, as was his habit, he felt someone lurking in the shadows. And he knew exactly who it was.

"Come out then," Harry said at the shadows and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And tell me what you want."

"To talk," Severus said as he stepped out of the shadows. "That's all."

"You’ve talked enough." Harry pocketed his keys and turned to leave, but decided differently in the end. He just needed to get something off his chest. "You know me!" he shouted. "You knew me even before my accident and yet you chose to tell me nothing and to play with me instead!"

"Play with you?"

"What cruel thing did I do to you that you led me on like this? You got me to fall for you and I –" Harry trailed off and shook his head. What did it matter anymore?

Severus cleared his throat. "I have been trying to talk to you. To tell you."

"Oh yeah? Because I never heard you say 'Hey Harry, by the way, I know who you are'."

"I tried in different ways..." Severus said cryptically. "I was hoping you might remember everything on your own." And with that, Severus raised a stick – _a wand, Harry knew immediately_ – and invisible hands drew words into the snow:

_"You're a wizard, Harry."_

Harry stared first at the words, then at Severus. Severus was insane. _He_ was insane, clearly, for seeing what he thought he saw. The back of his neck tingled.

"Your name is Harry Potter. You're a wizard and I've known you since you came to Hogwarts, your school, when you were 11 years old." Severus slowly walked towards Harry, hands raised like he was approaching a wild animal. "We used to hate each other, but then..." Severus shook his head "There was a war and we won, but a great price..."

"Why..." Harry swallowed. "Why didn't you say anything before? Why tell me now?"

"I was afraid the shock would drive you away, but I see now that you deserve to know the truth."

Harry nodded slowly and stared back at the ground. More words appeared in the snow just then:

_"Please come home."_

The tingling sensation intensified and then the world turned back.

 

******

 

When Harry came to, there was the scent of freshly brewed tea in the air. The couch beneath his back was familiar and when he finally opened his eyes, he found himself in his flat. Everything was familiar and yet everything felt different. Like it didn't belong to him anymore. Like this wasn't home anymore. Because he remembered.

Harry swung his legs off the couch and put his head in his hands. Fuck. He really did remember all of it. The screams, the blood, and the war. The laughter with Ron and Hermione in the common room. Snape – he just couldn't think of him as Severus anymore – standing in front of the class, Snape lying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, Snape just barely surviving. Watching Snape's memories. Fighting Voldemort. Losing Remus, Tonks, and Fred. And Sirius. And he remembered Disapparating from the Great Hall, then wandering around in Glasgow until he was found. And his life after that.

The clatter of a tea cup on a saucer made him look up again. He took the cup from Snape wordlessly, put the saucer on the table and then leant back to drink his tea. Snape slowly put his hand on Harry's free one and squeezed. And Harry squeezed back.

"I can't come back. Not yet," Harry said quietly.

"I understand."

"I need to figure this out first." Harry swallowed thickly and finally turned to Snape. "But maybe you could stay. And help." And maybe – just maybe – this would finally be a Christmas where something good was happening again.

 

******

  


The End

  



End file.
